Warning Lights

Mornings for me, are a thing of necessity. I engage with mornings out of duty rather than love. The sweetest days for me are when I can lounge in bed and be greeted by a mid-day sun. 

This morning, my alarm went off at 7:00am, reminding me that I had duties.  Last night, I didn't get much sleep, due to willfully putting myself in an overly-caffeinated state and unwillingly running anxious thoughts through my head. But lounging in bed would have to wait for another day. I puttered downstairs, my heavy eyelids protesting the assault of visual stimuli. I poured myself a cup of the very same substance that malevolently kept me awake last night. 

After putting in a solid hour of work, I wandered to Ye Olde Facebook to check in with the world. It was then I remembered there was a project coming up that I wanted to audition for. A project I had been thinking about for months and so desperately desired to be a part of. I reached out to the director to see if I could somehow fit my schedule with his rehearsal plans. He responded quickly and while it seemed unlikely that our schedules would align, it wasn't so unlikely that I wasn't tempted to try.

My excitement about this project was dampened only slightly by the other projects I already have going on. This Spring semester, I will be directing two shows, which will alone give me enough to work on. But, I thought, if the director was willing to work with my conflicts, I could do it all. 

Thinking I should probably take a breath and slow down, I messaged a friend and asked his opinion about my trying out. Very kindly, he supported my enthusiasm and inclination, but also suggested that it may not be in my best interests to spread myself too thin. I heard him, but the excitement was still too strong. I had pretty much decided I would audition and if it worked out, God would help me make it all work. 

Nevertheless, I did pause enough to pray. I asked God to give me wisdom and that if I shouldn't audition, that He'd make that clear to me. 

Twenty minutes later, I hustled out the door to get to gym class. I climbed into my car, Ginny, and tried to turn her on.

And she wouldn't start.

I tried again, hoping that if I just turned the key a couple more times, the engine would turn over. 

And nothing. Then, followed a conversation I had with my car in my head:

"Come on, girl. I need to get to class."
I can't.
"What do you mean you can't? Sure you can. We do this every day."
I literally cannot. 
"Why not?"
Something's wrong. 
"Okay, maybe. We'll get it checked out later. Can you just make it through today. though?"
No. Stop it. I've been telling you something's not right for a while now. You just haven't been listening.

Ginny's various warning lights have been on for a while. Check engine. Coolant. Brakes. I would make a mental note every time I would drive somewhere that I needed to take care of that "at some point". As I learned today, sometimes "at some point" is too late. 

I don't believe that everything that happens in life is a "sign from God", but I got the message. 

Humans, much like cars, have our own indicator lights that flash when something's off. Much like cars, it's easy to ignore those lights. Dismissively, we can say things like, "my sensor might be broken", "if I ignore that, it'll go away", "it's going to be too expensive to fix this", "it's going to take too much time to get this looked at", "the issue's probably not that serious", "it's just a piece of junk, anyway".

I can preach self-care to those around me like it's my day job. But when it comes to actual self-care for me-for this "self"-I actually feel slightly ill at the thought of it. You know why? Self-care is hard. It's some hard work. It does take time, energy, and even money. 

My check engine light might flash when I am struggling to get out of bed in the morning, when I can't keep my house clean, when I don't want to go out, when I overeat or indulge in too much sweets or alcohol, when I over-exercise or avoid exercise entirely, or when I fill my schedule so much that I don't have time to deal with the messy reality of myself. 

God, in his wisdom, knew humans would need rest. He built it into the week for us with the Sabbath. Yes, He created us to work, but He also created us to rest. When we actively avoid true rest and recreation, we miss out on a big, healing part of being human and being made in the image of God.

So today, I'm going to take a deep breath and slow down. I'm going to listen to those warning lights, because I have more mornings to face and I'm going to need all the energy and strength I can muster.

Take care of you, okay?  

The Name of Jesus Cures Opium Addiction and Other Problems I Have with Christian Literature

*deep breath*

So. Recently, I have been hit with a wave of nostalgia. I have been listening to old music from my upbringing, stocking my fridge with childhood favorites (I got really, really excited when I realized I could afford to buy dill pickle spears), revisiting classic movies, and rereading books that left an impression on me as a young child or in my teenage years.

Just because something is nostalgic, however, doesn't mean it's necessarily good or good for you. Nostalgic fills you with a sweet, longing feeling but indulging in whatever is bringing back that feeling may not be so dulcet or fulfilling.

In my case, for example, indulging in both Kraft macaroni and cheese and Christian literature leaves me feeling sick, bloated, frustrated, and guilty. Turns out reminiscing may be hazardous to your health.

This past week, I reread a book I first encountered when I was about 14 years old. This book is Tahn, by L.A Kelly. When I read the book a decade ago, I devoured it. Oh, I had my issues with it even then, but I was captivated by the plot, the mature subject matter, and the titular character of Tahn. I overlooked all my problems with the novel to continue on to the second and third books in the trilogy. Truthfully, I was very inspired by the book and a lot of my ten-year old writing project, Aakroveil, was born from ideas and concepts I got from this piece of literature. As I've begun working on Aakroveil in earnest again, I wondered if Tahn would hold up for me. Thus, I downloaded it onto my phone via the Kindle app and settled in.

Oh boy. The issues are...many. Let's examine, shall we?

First, a summary: Our story begins with a night of violence. We follow Tahn, a young man who is in the process of kidnapping the Lady Netta Trilett. He is under the orders of his master, Samis, a leader of mercenaries who has built his kingdom based on fear and forcing opium on his soldiers, "the Dark Angels". Samis recruits his soldiers at a young age, often picking up orphans and street urchins.

Lady Netta, is of course, terrified about being kidnapped but she is even more surprised when this man encourages her to scream and alert the rest of her family to the danger that is coming. Samis' soldiers end up burning her home to the ground and murdering most of her extended family. This attack is a political ploy ordered by Baron Trent who is vying for the currently unoccupied throne. Netta is also astonished to recognize that this man, Tahn, is the same man who killed her husband, Karll, three years before.

Tahn, however, is done working for Samis. He is tormented by the violence he has been coerced to commit and has decided to once and all be free of him. By kidnapping Netta, he actually saves her life. He takes her to a cave far away from Samis' men and asks her to remain there until he is able to help her further. He tells her he must first go back to Samis to free the young children in Samis' "care".

Through trickery, Tahn convinces Samis he is still working for him and manages to save all the children. He takes them back to the cave where Netta is and asks for her help in taking care of them. Netta, a good Christian woman, is very confused by this man who, for all accounts, should be a monster, and yet is seemingly doing a good and right thing. As she is unsure of whether or not her family is still alive or if it is even safe for her to reveal her location, she decides to stay. Netta then begins teaching the children their alphabet along with reading Scripture to them and sharing the gospel with them.

Eventually, Tahn begins to hear her lessons and he comes to faith. Before he can share the good news with Netta and the children, he is ensnared in a trap by Samis to capture him, as Samis has by this time realized Tahn has betrayed him. Baron Trent convinces Samis to allow Tahn to travel to the great city of Onath where he can be publicly hanged. The Baron comes up with the idea of blaming Tahn for the deaths of the Triletts.

Netta and the children hear of this and decide to save Tahn, which they do. They travel to Onath. Netta discovers her father and cousin survived the attack. They then reveal themselves at Tahn's hanging and expose the Baron for the evil man he is. Yay.

Netta's father, Lord Bennamin Trilett (Okay, I'm sorry. But can we admit how awful a name this is? Bennamin? Just name him Benjamin! PLEASE), honors Tahn as the man who saved his daughter and welcomes him and the children to come live with him and the remainder of his family in their non-charred country house as they all try to rebuild their lives. Tahn gladly accepts for the children, but is reluctant to accept himself. He expressed to Bennamin (hehe) that he has...feelings...for Netta which may complicate things. Bennamin is surprisingly unconcerned about this and invites him anyway.

In the meantime, Samis' army has fallen apart and Samis now wants to kill Tahn more than anything in the world. He attempts to, but dies before he gets the chance. More on that later.

Then Netta and Tahn admit their love for one another and the book ends hopefully about everyone's future.

*another deep breath*

Okay. I'm going to first delve into thematic issues I have with this with this novel, and then the literary ones. Many of these are issues that I find to be reoccurring in a lot of Christian Fiction I have read. Ready? Let's go.

#1: The Eroticism of Sexual Assault

This, to me, is one of the most heinous crimes of Christian literature. In this book, one of Tahn's "cohorts" attempts to rape Netta before Tahn safely conducts her to the cave. Tahn doesn't allow it, stating that business must be taken care of before pleasure. This scene is so cringe-y. Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with the author including this in the novel. It makes sense in the circumstances. My problem is how the situation is presented. She describes the actions taken by the man before he is stopped, yet never deals with the fall out. There simply seems no further point to this scene but to establish that a) the man who attempts to rape Netta is evil (shocker, we knew that already and spoiler, Tahn kills him about an hour later, so...I don't care) and b) Tahn may actually be protecting Netta after all, which again, is something that the author is already unveiling to us.

There also other hints of sexual assault in the novel. One of the children Tahn rescues is girl masquerading as a boy. This girl hints to Netta that she was sexually assaulted by her father (this child is 9), but never explicitly states it. Netta's response is basically, "Oh, you poor dear. I'm so glad you're safe now". Um...excuse me, what? There is much more to be explored there, in terms of healing and relationship for these two characters. Why bother putting this in if it goes nowhere?

My point here is, in Christian literature, one way to sneak in some "exciting sexual content" is to have a character almost be assaulted. This also falls into the "damsel in distress" trope. Women being almost assaulted but then rescued by a man in the nick of time...what an exciting and thrilling way to exemplify the courage and heroism of our male characters! To describe the act, but then never deal with Netta's emotions-her fear, her disgust, her shame, her trauma after almost being raped-is cheap and degrading. If you're not actually going to deal with the horror of sexual assault, don't put it in your novel.  Otherwise, your reasons simply seem voyeuristic and erotic.

#2: Hard Christianity and missed opportunities

If you've ever had the pleasure of watching any of Say Goodnight Kevin on YouTube, you will have heard him use the term "Hard Christianity" for any piece of Christian media that is edgy pretty much just for the sake of proving Christians can do edgy things. This novel deals with a lot of difficult issues, "gang" violence, childhood abuse, murder, sexual assault, suicide, torture, eternal damnation, drug addiction, and political corruption.

But it doesn't deal with any of these issues well. My problem with this is pretty much the same as my problem with point #1. The novel includes all of these things, but doesn't take the time to explore the impact on the characters. Inclusion of hard things doesn't mean working through them. It seems like Kelly wanted to write a novel that exemplifies God's grace in the most broken of situations. Good. That's a wonderful goal. This doesn't fully happen, though, as there is no exploration of the motives behind human wickedness. Kelly opts out of delving into the psychological, philosophical, and spiritual implications of evil for her characters, even though evil deeds are what drive her plot.

Also, we get underlying political unrest in this novel but we don't get any information about...anything. What is this world? Where is it? What happened that the throne has been unoccupied for seven years? Is there anyone else trying to claim the throne besides the Baron? What's the economy like? The culture? Fashion? How does Christianity exist if this doesn't take place in our world (and hey, maybe it does but it doesn't explicitly say and all the town names are made up so who knows). To be fair, I believe this is something she delves into in book three of the trilogy, but we, the readers, should not have to wait that long for this world-building information.

#3: Jesus Magically Cures Everything (including opium addiction)

I. Cannot. Stand. This. Not one, not two, but THREE characters in this novel come to Christ and suffer NO ILL EFFECTS OF SUDDENLY QUITTING OPIUM. The characters laugh and rejoice at this and seem to accept this as a natural way in which God works. NO. This is not natural-at all. Certainly, God could choose to help His child to work through withdrawal without symptoms and I am sure He has, but this is not how it works for most people. I find this to be incredibly insulting to people who have struggled with addiction of any kind, especially those people who have cried out to God for help in their addictions and He has denied them. I believe the story would have been much more effective and powerful to show Tahn coming to Christ and then struggling through the pain of withdrawal. God's grace doesn't take away all the hard things about our lives. It helps us through them. This would have been a much more relateble development and would be more interesting to read.

Additionally, after Tahn comes to Christ, he instantly lets go of his violent and angry ways. He struggles a little bit to forgive Samis, but he lets go of the long-harbored desire to kill him. In fact, he prays that he will never have to shed blood again, a prayer that God answers when Samis conveniently dies of what appears to be a stroke before he and Tahn have to face off. Again, this is the easy way out. It would have been much more interesting and real to show Tahn struggling with the contrast of his old self- bitter, angry, murderous, and his new self- redeemed, hopeful, peaceful. It would have been interesting to see Tahn forced to kill Samis out of self-defense and work through what that meant in the light of his newfound faith.

The reality of Christianity is that Jesus promised our lives would get harder in many ways because of our choice to follow Him. In Christian novels, this somehow gets turned backwards where characters believe and suddenly everything is fine. Baffling. Absolutely baffling.

#4: Characters pray/praise God all the time

In nearly every Christian novel I've read, the Christian characters' inner monologue is just one long conversation with God. Man, I wish this were true for me, but it's not. In fact, I don't know many (any) Christians who would say that every time they have a thought, they are directing that thought in prayer to God. I know the Bible says to pray without ceasing but who actually accomplishes this?

Characters also punctuate nearly ever sentence with "thanks be to God", "thank you, Jesus",or "by the grace of God". Maybe the author intended this use of language to help the medieval feel of the text. Regardless, it's unnatural and pulled me out of the story. It was ludicrous how Tahn also adopted this language immediately after becoming a Christian. Bam! Instant change!

#5 Forgiveness and toxic relationships

Remember how Tahn killed Netta's husband, kidnapped her, and assisted in a plot that brought about the death of many of her family members? Yeah, well, this doesn't stop Netta from falling in love with him.

Granted, all of the evil things Tahn did were under duress and he actually does a lot of really good things. He has a lot of good qualities as well. But this man is a deeply damaged soul and the wounds between him and Netta should be deep and complex.

The ease with which Netta forgives Tahn for all the wrong he's committed is not realistic. It's very uncomfortable as the reader to see her brush aside everything he's done and give into romantic feelings for the man who murdered her husband. Many Christians might say this is a beautiful picture of forgiveness but it's not. Forgiveness is much messier and much harder. Again, I don't in theory have an issue with the two of them falling in love, but it happened too quickly and we skipped about a hundred steps of healing that needed to happen first.

The novel again misses an opportunity here to explore what forgiveness actually looks like. What is the difference between forgiveness and reconciliation? How do we offer grace and love to the people who have hurt us first? How do we let go of bitterness and anger?

Nah, let's skip all that and just have them kiss.

#6: No human being speaks this way

I wish there were a nice way to say this, but there really isn't. The writing is not good. While the descriptions in this book aren't terrible, the dialogue is unbelievably bad. As I mentioned above, Kelly may have been trying to get a medieval flair in the way her characters spoke, but what ended up happening is her characters speak in highly formal language that belies any true feeling or thought. Her characters' conversations don't have any natural flow or structure. Characters don't have distinct speaking patterns. The content of the conversations often feels superfluous.

Towards the end of the book, we are treated to characters rehashing the grace of God on nearly every page. If you can fill your novel with musings on the beautiful grace of God, please do. But don't present the gospel in the same way over and over and over again. We get it. Your characters get it. Move on.

#7: Constantly shifting perspectives

I love getting a story from multiple points of view, but the perspective shifts in this book were overwhelming. One minute it would be from Tahn's perspective, then Netta's, then back to Tahn's, then maybe one of the children. It was jarring. I'm not saying you can't shift perspective within a short time frame, but the transition needs to make sense and be purposeful. Most times, I didn't understand why we were suddenly getting this interaction from the other person's viewpoint when the conversation would have been fine to carry on from the original viewpoint.

#8 Tahn and Samis are the only interesting characters

There are a decent amount of characters in this novel, but most of them are so flat and similar to one another that I found I really only cared when I was reading about Tahn or Samis. Netta is so painfully boring and one-dimensional. The children don't have distinctive personalities. The bad guys are bad. The good guys are good. Tahn is somewhat conflicted in the middle until he accepts Christ and transforms into a saint.


There you have it.

Maybe you're reading this (although, seriously, did you wade through all of that? If so, you deserve a medal) and thinking, "Marian, if you hated it so much, why do you care? Why put all this effort and energy into this?"

Because it could have been so good. Kelly has a story here which, in its rawest form, is a thrilling adventure of a tortured man on his quest to physical and spiritual freedom. The plot is engaging. Tahn, as a character, draws you in. I care because I see this novel's potential and it pains me that instead of achieving something great, it slumps into the dreariness of cliches, tropes, and watered-down Christianity.

I am an artist and a Christian. I admit, I am not the greatest writer, actor, or singer. I struggle too to create excellent art. But if we're going to leave any lasting impact on this world through our creative endeavors we must struggle, not settle for half-convincing characters, conversions, and conversations.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to relive other aspects of my childhood that make me a little less queasy.

The Middle

Have you ever read a blog post or a book, or listened to a public speaker, or sat with a new friend over a cup of coffee and experienced the impact of another human's suffering? The story you read or hear is powerful; it is painful, but the giver of the story has-through grace and grit-overcome that chapter of their life. You are inspired by the wisdom and the lessons learned and the now-evident working of God's hand in that person's life. 

I have read a lot of blog posts like the ones I've described. I am grateful for people, strangers often, who invited me to learn from their stories, their struggles, and their mistakes. Nearly every blog post I've read, whether it be about depression, eating disorders, grief, suicidal ideation, sexual assault, self harm, or anxiety is written through the eyes of a person who has made it to the other side. Even if they haven't fully overcome their demons, they are in a place where they feel peace. They feel a distance from the once-suffocating experiences that come with mental illness. 

As I have read these blogs, I feel the contradicting feelings of hope and discouragement. I find hope in another person's success, but it is always followed by the nagging, desperate voice that cries, "When will this be me? When do I get to write my blog post, claiming my victory over my depression?" 

What do you do when you're in the middle?

I believe that every person who bravely shares their stories seeks to do so for their own peace and for the betterment of others. They are looking to shatter the stigmas surrounding the taboo, messy subjects that are embedded in human suffering. For that I am grateful. But sometimes, reading a story that has a resolution while my story is in chaos is not what I need. Sometimes, reading the stories of "fixed" or "healed" people pushes me into silence as it makes me feel that, somehow, I can't publicly share until I've gotten over all my issues. 

Sometimes what I need is someone who is in the middle like me. I need someone to write a blog post that says, yes, they struggled to get out of bed this morning too. Yes, making their bed was an act of obedience to God when all they wanted to do was crawl right back in and forget about their day. Yes, they feel numb and pained and anxious and lonely. 

Even as our society is becoming more understanding of mental health issues, it still feels incredibly taboo, especially in the church. I struggled with my depression for years before admitting it to my pastor and my women's group. I find that it is awkward whenever I bring depression up in a large group of Christians and yet when I speak to many Christians one on one, I find that my fellow believer is also suffering or has suffered with depression in the past. 

I want awkward prayer groups. I want people to be real and honest with what's going on in their lives. It is incredible to see how when one person breaks down the barriers of social politeness and begs for prayer for the deepest hurts of their heart how others will nod and whisper, "I feel that too".

If you find yourself in the middle of a struggle, whatever struggle, do not feel that you cannot speak of it. You were made for community. You were made to be supported. You don't need to wait until you have neatly tied up your lose destruction. Jesus said, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick". Jesus came to save us in our sinful, broken state. If our Lord accepts us and loves us as we are, how can we do less for one another?   

You do not need to be any version of yourself which is not you.

The following are excerpts from my journal during my European travels. They have been edited only for clarity.

January 25th, 2018

I have very distinct memories of participating in The International Fair as a part of homeschooling co-ops as a child. Nothing was more thrilling to me than getting my "passport" and "travelling" from booth to booth set up around a gymnasium, representing different countries, different cultures

I remember feeling awed as I stroked my sister's passport when she prepared to leave for Jamaica on a missions trip, thinking how brave and wonderful she was for leaving the safety of home. And how exciting that was to me.

Now I'm sitting in the Baltimore airport, waiting to fly to Dublin! How crazy is that?

Yesterday...I got a text from Kenny telling me he couldn't find his passport. He was planning to come with me for the first week. I felt absolutely sick and terrified. I prayed and prayed that God would help him find it. I struggled to believe this was happening and I had to push myself to finish getting ready. I did not want to go without him. But I knew I had spent too much money not to go and that I would be mad at myself if I didn't.

...Anyway, Kenny never found his passport and will not be coming. I am doing okay but I'm a little frightened. How will I stay safe? How will I know where to go or what to do? How will I be on my own without companionship for so long? I don't know. But I do know Jesus is good and he is with me. He will protect me.

January 26th, 2018

I made it to Iceland! I will soon be in Dublin

..There was a beautiful mother with her three children who were with me in BWI and also are flying to Dublin. Two of the children were very talkative which was fun for me. The oldest didn't speak to me much but she said something that impressed me. Her little brother was sitting on her lap for a long while. She asked him kindly to get off. He refused. Exasperated, she said, "It's my body, you know!"

Yes, sweetheart. Never forget that.

11:11am

Made it to Dublin...it is amazing to me how vast this world is. I feel incredibly small and humbled to be a part of God's creative story. Already I have heard more accents and languages, and seen more different nationalities that I ever have.

2:53pm

I walked around for a while which was cool. It was peaceful. There's a lot about Dublin that's very lovely. The buildings are charming. I was musing about the contrast of human creation (the architecture) and human destruction (litter).

I'm actually struggling to want to do anything but I don't want to waste this opportunity.

5:06pm

I have showered and put on cleaner, prettier clothes and I already feel better about the world. Still adjusting and nearly terrified for my safety every minute. Trying to let that go. God is in control of me and my life.

The hostel has terrible instant coffee, but some kind traveler left peppermint tea. I know what I will be drinking.

Travelling always reminds me of Nancy Drew.

11:15pm

God is so awesome. Just as I was feeling sorry for myself, a beautiful young woman named Ana sat down across from me at the hostel table. She looked like she was traveling alone so I reached out to her, thinking we could connect on that. Turns out she worked with special needs men in another part of Ireland. She didn't have a place to stay and was getting worried as she had tried other hostels and they were also full. I realized then that she could have Kenny's bed. She was very appreciative.

I am so grateful that God has given me some good gifts, great gifts and has started to ease my anxiety. I feel much more hopeful about this trip now than I did at the start.

January 28th, 2018

You do not need to be any version of yourself which is not you. For some reason, this is something that came into my head as I have struggled to know how to present myself to people here. I spend a lot of energy worrying about how I present myself...more like, will they think I'm this snob who refuses to integrate with others? That I think I'm better than others? Perhaps there is some truth to that, that I do think that way at times. I know I am not superior in any way but it is easy to fall into the wrong mindset that I am morally superior to the people around me because I assume they have no spiritual inclinations. I judge others because they drink more than me or whatnot.

So, the judging part is bad, but I think I get hung up on who I am and who I need to be. When really, I can just be me. And if I get to interact with others, that is a blessing but sometimes I can't and that's okay too.

I want to love others, but there may not be opportunities to express love to everyone.

Today I went to church and heard a good message on true discipleship. The church I visited was very quirky. They did their own version of Family Feud for kids which was hysterical, but ultimately meaningful and instructive.

January 31st, 2018

"Everything is an investment."- Kenny

Yes! Kenny is here! He was able to get a passport and I saw him yesterday as I got home from my trip to The Cliffs of Moher. I had a sneaking suspicion he might be coming by the language of some of his texts. I was still absolutely delighted to see him when I walked into the room at the hostel.

What a relief it is, not to have to be alone.

Kenny was hungry so we went out to a pub and got dinner. Since Kenny got here, I have spent much more on eating out and alcohol. Then, we walked around Dublin for I don't know how long. We got pretty lost. He wouldn't let me use WI-FI at first to find our way back. By the time he agreed to ti, it was a 40 minute walk back. Needless to say, my feet are very tired this day.

February 4th, 2018

I have journaled more than I expected and less that I hoped I would. I suppose that means I have low expectations yet high hopes. In a way, I think that makes a lot of sense in how I operate. For instance, I set insanely high standards or goals for myself. I have incredible ideals that I want to pursue but in my heart I don't actually expect myself to work toward those goals. I give up before I even start.

3:07pm

After walking the streets a bit, I started making my way back toward my Airbnb. I had no intention of returning quite yet but thought it might be interesting to see what else this town had to offer.

As I returned, I came upon a pathway that led into a set of woods, boasting a beautiful stream. I stopped in here to see the glories of nature. I am finding myself more able to relax my "shoulds" about traveling. "I should see this, I should see that". I am finding that many of the main tourist attractions hold little charm for me. Traveling for me is turning into seeing smaller, quieter places and observing strangers.

I do wish I were able to meet more people and engage with them, but this is not something I have quite mastered yet.

Anyway, the woods were gorgeous. I can't help but think of Aakroveil whenever I'm caught in such scenery.

Naturally, I have a fearful heart. I couldn't help worrying that I might meet some danger, whether human, animal or accident.

This morning, however, as I sat in a cafe, I read a few chapters of 1 Samuel. I am the part of the story where David comes on the scene. I am always so impressed by David's bravery and absolute certainty that God will give him strength and success in all he does. This was challenging for me and an excellent reminder that I serve and also have access to the same God. I do not need to walk in fear for my God is with me always. He hears me always. He loves me always.

February 8th, 2018

I am on my flight home.

There were a lot of things that I wish had been different. There were a lot of really hard moments, but I am grateful for all of it. That's all for now, travel journal. Who knows when I'll pick you up again and where we'll go next?

Self-expression and Self-love

When I was a child, I loved myself. I was by no means shy or shameful or indecisive. I was firm about who I was and what I wanted. I was passionate, I was a dreamer, I had a soul that could not be sated. Now, I was also a brat. I was unruly and sometimes rude, but even those things I had trouble discrediting when my mother told me I shouldn’t be them, because they were part of me and I loved me.  

I was free to love myself because no one had yet told me loving myself was wrong. No one had yet shattered the passion and the dreams. No one had told me that I wasn’t enough.

Over time, I experienced comments and conversations with friends, family, strangers—those who were well-meaning, misguided, or cruel—about my body, my intellect, my talents, my potential, and my personhood:

“You’re so fat!”

“If you gain more weight, I won’t be your friend.”

“You’ll never be a singer.”

“You don’t have what it takes to be a writer.”

“You’re too ambitious.”

“Going to college is too risky.”

“You’re too emotional.”

“You’re inconsiderate of other’s needs.”

“No one wants to around someone who’s bitter and depressed.”

It was amazing how I was either “too much” or “not enough”.

The list goes on. I fought these messages of inferiority and insignificance. But at some point, I broke.  I invited these lies in. I stripped myself of my confidence and my surety. My heart, which I had delightedly worn on my sleeve became battered and bruised. I tucked it away back into my chest and built defensive walls. My heart no longer beat with passion, but with fear.  

I believe my Christian upbringing also played a part in this emotional retreat. Whether this message was taught to me explicitly, or it was something I inferred, I genuinely believed that I didn’t matter. Other’s needs and wants were always more important than mine. I heard every week how sinful I was and how horrible humanity is. I read Matthew 22:39 as “Love your neighbor, not yourself.”

(Now, before anyone freaks out, I have not abandoned my faith. I love Jesus. I love being a Christian. I love the church. And yes, Matthew 22:38 is more important than Matthew 22:39. But the church messes up sometimes. Sorry.)

And you know what I’ve noticed? For me, there is a direct correlation between self-love and self-expression. The first time I stepped on stage to perform, there was no fear. I was four years old. I took my small, non-speaking role incredibly seriously. After that first play, I knew that I was an artist and I would work hard for my art. This was how acting was for me for the majority of my childhood and a good part of my teenage years.

This makes sense, doesn’t it? Because I loved myself, and I loved being me I had no problem sharing myself and expressing myself through the arts.

Now I’m here. Over the last few years, I have struggled intensely with self-hatred. I have apologized to people for things I didn’t need to out of fear that they would be angry with me and hate me as much as I hated myself, I have lectured myself over actions which were simple mistakes, not heinous crimes, I have taken my attributes and tried to stuff them in a suppressed box because they were so abhorrent to me.

Now, I am afraid to act. I am afraid to sing. I am afraid to engage with people and form relationships. I am afraid to express my opinions.  I am afraid to express myself. How can I express myself, when I hate myself? Why should I express and share myself when the person I am is so unworthy?

These are the lies I fight consistently. Maybe you fight them too. It is a worthy fight, because God desires for us to be whole. He desires for us to enjoy Him, to enjoy ourselves (He sure does), and to enjoy others.

I don’t have the answers. I am not there yet. I don’t completely love myself. I still fall into self-destructing patterns. I find artistic expression daunting and exhausting. Who knows if I will ever again be able to act with the true self-abandon I experienced as a child. But I am working on bring down those walls around my heart. Because self-expression is beautiful and powerful. It is necessary. So is self-love.

“Love your neighbor AS yourself.”

I promise to fight to love myself. And I promise to fight to love you too.

The Lollipop Story

I have a really great brother. It's a good thing God only gave me one because any other brother would have to work hard to compete with Andrew. Andrew and I were best buddies pretty much from the day I was born. At twelve years apart, he was my babysitter, my protector, and my playmate. As I grew up, those roles didn't change, but only intensified.

When Andrew graduated in 1999, it was a big deal. My awesome brother finished school (which I was just starting) and he seemed so impossibly cool and smart. I actually remember his graduation vividly, or rather, I remember the party following. There were blue and white balloons everywhere, a giant graduation cake and these fascinating, tantalizing chocolate lollipops.

This was the first time in my life I had seen chocolate on a stick (and who hasn't remembered that life-changing experience?). The pop was perfectly round, decorated with a head wearing a graduation cap cut in chocolate form. One was milk chocolate, one was white. Clear cellophane was delicately wrapped around them, tied around the stick with blue ribbon. Unfortunately, these delectible morsels were only given to the graduates. I knew I had to use my sisterly powers to persuade Andrew to share them with me. They had to be mine.

And so, day after day when I made my daily trips to Andrew's room for our visits, I badgered him incessantly to give me one of his lollipops. He tortured me, displaying them in the cup of an Awana trophy atop his bed-stand and yet he firmly told me everyday that he wasn't ready to eat them. This ritual continued, but no whining, begging, hugs and cuddles, or cute eyes would do anything. Finally, in a last attempt to hush me up, Andrew told me that we could eat them on his wedding day. This defeated me at last and I gave up any hope I would ever taste those treats.

Fast forward to August 4th, 2007. The day my brother got married. It was a bittersweet day for me as I was saying goodbye to my dear friend. It was hard for me to share Andrew, but I loved his new wife, Elizabeth, and while it was difficult for me to let him go, I was happy for him.

I was very surprised, then, when at the reception, my brother took the mic and started to tell the lollipop story. I hadn't thought about those lollipops in years. I couldn't believe it when he concluded the story with, "Well, Marian, I didn't forget my promise" and he produced the same lollipops, old and totally inedible, in front of all his wedding guests. Then, he also gave me two new lollipops, in the shape of graduation caps, for us to enjoy together.

I still have those old lollipops. So, I guess I got my way in the end after all.  

The Power of the Mediocre Worship Song

*Note: this post was started in January, but due to life I couldn't finish until now. Apologies.

I just had a really amazing weekend, holed up with some of my favorite people in a beautiful home. We were gathered together to read the first draft of my novel, Aakroveil. So many wonderful things happened this weekend that I could probably write a whole new novel just based on the events that occurred. For now, I will per-maybe-haps share some of it over a few blog posts.

Today being Sunday, we took a break from the reading to attend church. The party broke up, some going to their home churches, others opting to stay at home as they had stayed up until 4:30am, another found that he had to go purchase a plunger instead of visiting a house of worship due do to a rather unfortunate circumstance that I'm sure you are savvy enough to understand.

Pond, Sharon, Amanda, Steph and myself all decided to visit a church nearby to the house where we were staying. We were a powerful force. Five gorgeous women-four of whom had sweeping maxi-skirts and flowing long hair and the fifth, rebellious, heathen with a sweater dress, leggings and a boy crop. (We pray for you, Steph.) We all piled into Pond's little car and drove to the church. Pond uncharacteristically pulled into a parking spot instead of backing up in the parking lot behind the church. We had trailed a yellow mini cooper into the little lot. We politely said good morning to the young man as we filed out of the car and headed into the church. Once all five of us had entered the stone building, the man turned to take us in.
             "Did all of you come from that car?" He asked.
             "Yes," I smiled, "we did."
             "That's intense." He replied and went into the sanctuary.

I had been to this church once before with my best friend, Momo. We both had visited when we were having a sleepover. That time, the sermon had been so powerful and just what Mo and I needed. After church that day, we both talked about how awesome it was that God knew that she and I both needed to hear it.

I was excited to visit again. Steph, Betsy, Amanda, and I all slipped into the back pew of the sanctuary as the service started. Sharon had to go to the bathroom, of course. By the time she got back, the band had already started playing and the worship music had begun.

Now, for those of you who don't know, I was raised in a Presbyterian church. My beautiful mother is the music director there so I have to be careful what I say (just kidding, Mum). For the most part, I adored the music at my home church. We sang mostly hymns with a few moderately contemporary jigs thrown it. (Yes, I did just use the word "jig" to describe a Presbyterian service. No, it is not accurate.) I am a big fan of hymns. I think the tunes are pretty singable. Often times the words are both beautiful and thought-provoking and they get me in the mind to worship the Creator of the universe.

So, I stood there, in the back pew with the three chord diddy which reached up to heaven and tugged on God's sleeve and said, "Hey, God! Just so you know, you're AWESOME. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah" pouring into my ears. Thankfully, those weren't the actual words, but that was the message I got. But I brought my attention back to God and asked him to help be stop being so gosh-darn cynical and worship him no matter the medium.

And then, something really cool happened. The band started playing the song "How He Loves Us". I recognized it as a song I didn't absolutely hate and started singing. I'll post some of the words here:

He is jealous for me,
Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree,
Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy.
When all of a sudden,
I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory,
And I realize just how beautiful You are,
And how great Your affections are for me.

And oh, how He loves us, oh,
Oh, how He loves us,
How He loves us all

Those simple words I had heard dozens of times suddenly hit me. God loves me. He loves me.

Some of you may be reading this thinking that that knowledge should be a given. But for me, it wasn't. As those words kept flashing on the PowerPoint, I felt tears stream down my face as I realized that I had been living for a long time thinking that God and I had a very utilitarian relationship. I knew that he took care of me. I knew that he provided my physical needs and that he provided salvation. I knew he was there if I needed help or someone to talk to. But I genuinely did not believe he loved me.

If you asked me if I believed the God I follow loved me, of course I would have replied with a yes. That's what we do. We're Christians. We're so quick to offer the Sunday School answer without honestly looking at our heart and our relationship with God.

I won't get into the particulars about why I didn't believe God loved me, because this is posted and social media, and hey, y'all don't need to know every intimate detail of my life. But it had been a very sore, open wound for a long time. But I cried and I sang-quietly because I was listening to his love.

Thank you, John Mark McMillan for writing a mediocre worship song. And thank you, Jesus, for getting your message through, no matter what.